


Autopsy

by yeaka



Category: Murdoch Mysteries
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 18:05:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3391121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lillian pops into the morgue for a little fun during Emily’s inspection.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Autopsy

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: All the Emillian love~ Warning for blood and guts, since this is set in the morgue.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Murdoch Mysteries or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Lillian becomes so commonplace at the morgue that Emily doesn’t even need to look up anymore. She recognizes the gate of Lillian’s steps, the quiet rhythm of Lillian’s breath, the brush of her long skirts. Emily strikes up the conversation with her hands still buried, wrist-deep, in the split open body. Lillian’s reply is punctuated with a sharp breath. As fearless as Lillian is, few people can immerse themselves in another’s blood the way Emily Grace can. 

But Lillian finds that all the more exciting, Emily knows, because Lillian likes to say, “How _brave_ you are.” And Emily only grins. She and Julia are a special breed. It’s always nice to be appreciated. 

She asks, “How are you?” as she shuffles organs aside, in pursuit of an illusive bullet that has to be in here _somewhere._ It doesn’t help that her newest assistant is somewhat clumsy and has clearly jostled the body too much. Or that the killer practically ripped this man’s whole chest open.

The click-clack of Lillian’s footsteps trails around the table. She’s growing bolder, more used to the morgue and to Emily. When she’s right at Emily’s side, she murmurs, “I miss you.” Emily smiles and has to stifle a laugh. It’s the way of new relationships. They’ve barely been apart a few hours, and yet Emily _missed Lillian too._

Lillian’s arms wrap around her, loose around the middle, avoiding the blood splatter at the hem of her apron. Emily asks simply, “Did you close the door?”

“And locked it,” Lillian purrs mischievously. Hardly professional behaviour. But then, if the world weren’t so very cruel, they wouldn’t have to hide in the first place; Emily doubts Detective Murdoch and Julia ever had to close the door when they were alone.

But they’re both innocent and sweet, and Lillian is... _naughty_.

She wraps her arms tighter around Emily’s middle. Emily might gasp for breath if she was still confined to a corset, but she isn’t, and she can breathe through the fierce tightness of Lillian’s embrace. Lillian presses against her back, full breasts flattening against her shoulder blades, and Emily’s hands slowly slither out of the body. She can’t hold Lillian back, not without smearing blood everywhere, but she can lean herself against Lillian’s body and luxuriate in the embrace of the woman she loves. 

Lillian kisses the shell of her ear and teases, “Dr. Grace, you’re on the clock.” Emily tries to shoot her a glare, but it’s buried under a smirk. Lillian hisses, “Keep _working_.” And her lips turn to part around the back of Emily’s ear, a wicked tongue tracing her supple skin. Emily represses a shiver and does _try_ to work, but it’s difficult with Lillian kissing a steady trail down her neck. Lillian lifts one hand to tug down Emily’s high collar, and blunt teeth scrape along her throat, nipping lightly.

She can’t leave any marks, of course. Those, the possessive bruises of needy fingers and ravenous teeth, they keep in private areas, in places no one can see. Emily gets as big a rush from being _claimed_ as she does from branding Lillian in return, but her neck isn’t a safe place for fun. She groans as Lillian’s kisses linger back up her jaw line, and Lillian’s hand strays back down her chest. 

It stops at her breasts, sliding sensuously over one, fingers twisting in to _squeeze_. Even through the thick fabric of Emily’s bra, she can feel Lillian’s skill. She’s never had anyone that could map and worship her body so perfectly. She leans over her shoulder to go for a kiss, but Lillian turns away and murmurs, nearly giggling, “ _Emily,_ work.”

So, torturous though it is, Emily sinks her hands into the victim’s chest while Lillian plays with hers. Two warm palms press against her breasts, pushing them up, fingers kneading into her and tugging them forward. Emily’s legs shift tighter together, her thighs squirming, but Lillian shoves an insistent leg between hers. Even with all the masses of their skirts in between, Emily can feel her lover’s warmth. She tries to rub her body back against Lillian’s, grind her crotch along Lillian’s thigh, and she arches her body forward, her breasts heaving in Lillian’s hands. Her fingers close around the bullet she’s looking for. 

She tugs it out and drops it on the table beside the victim’s shoulder. She’s breathing hard. There are other things to do, but not now. 

Lillian purrs in her ear, “Good girl.” Emily’s eyes slip shut, drowning in the eroticism. It sounds like a game, and games with Lillian are _always_ fun, especially when they involve Lillian’s hands on her body. If her hands weren’t soaked, she’d spin around, grab Lillian’s face, and kiss her hard enough to knock her to the floor. 

Instead, Lillian pulls away, and Emily moans, vacillating between a whimper and a growl. 

Lillian just kisses her cheek and murmurs, “Maybe we should wait until you’re done work.”

Emily stares at her and corrects, “Maybe we should go up to my office and make love on my desk.”

For a short moment, Lillian stares at her back. 

Then they’re running for the steps, after Emily pauses briefly at the sink to rid herself of the world’s true crimes.


End file.
